Realism is way to honor King

Is it possible to erect a monument to a politically controversial figure without stirring up ... political controversy?

Mary Sanchez

Is it possible to erect a monument to a politically controversial figure without stirring up ... political controversy?

In the case of the 28-foot-tall statue of Martin Luther King Jr. destined for the National Mall, the answer would appear to be no. The U.S. Commission of Fine Arts, which has the authority to approve the monument's design, has deemed the proposed granite depiction of King too stern-looking. Ah, the drama of being a national icon.

The head of the commission recently sent a letter to the foundation raising funds for the monument, stating that "the colossal scale and Social Realist style of the proposed statue recalls a genre of political sculpture that has recently been pulled down in other countries."

The letter went on to say that the sculpture should be reworked, "both in form and modeling, to return to a more sympathetic idea of the figure growing out of the stone with increasing detail and emphasis of the upper part of the figure."

The commission suggested a nice depiction of King would be the graceful human curves hewn by Michelangelo and Rodin.

Curvaceous muscles under the suit King wears? A King stooped and folded as Rodin's "Thinker"?

Here's a novel idea: Why not concentrate more on teaching the reality of King - in all his fury? Then people can stop carping about static representations of him. They'd see that King was not the mere martyr many wish to portray him as - calm, gentle and long-suffering.

Yes, care should be taken to craft an appropriate image of King for such a prominent site in the nation's capital. But is the style of the current design socialist realism? That judgment may say more about the beholder than the image itself. (And this irony should not go unremarked: For the better part of his career, King was suspected by our highest authorities of being a communist.)

But this much is clear: To erect a likeness of King devoid of any air of defiance is inaccurate, even ludicrous. King, especially in his later years, gave speeches so critical of the U.S. that the Rev. Jeremiah Wright would have shouted a few "amens." After he won the Nobel Peace Prize, King became far more focused on global poverty, and he spoke out about it in tones that were far from meek and mild.

A quote by King found in David J. Garrow's book "Bearing the Cross: Martin Luther King Jr. and the Southern Christian Leadership Conference" is fitting now.

"You know there comes a time when time itself is ready for change," King said.

The quote is part of a recounting of when King, shaken by death threats and bomb threats to his home, was trying to figure a way out of continuing to lead the Montgomery bus boycott without being labeled a coward.

Deep in prayer, King had an epiphany of faith. He gained the conviction that God wanted him to pursue justice and would be by his side. But his first thought - that a time for change had come, regardless of his presence - is noteworthy. We're at such a moment now.

With the nation moving closer to electing its first black president, isn't it a little odd to be pitching fits that a black man dead 40 years is being depicted as powerful? Do the guardians of our national images think Americans don't like our black people too harsh, too steely, too unmovable in their stands?

If they do, they're clearly trapped in the perspective of the past: one that hasn't acknowledged the prominence of Colin Powell, the brains of Condoleezza Rice, the financial savvy of Russell Simmons and other black music moguls. Or the fiery stands of African-Americans who are serving as state and national elected officials.

The seeming disconnect actually says much about how far the nation has come since King's death and what a struggle it has been. We have moved on from King's era, thankfully.

But we owe it to King, the man who helped get us here, to remember him for what he was.